The Glass Isn't Empty
by Walthurst
Summary: Sam is only here to investigate, confirming suspicions and whatnot. Imagine his surprise when the victim in question is a familiar face, or is she? [one-shot]


**Disclaimer**: Hannibal and all related materials are the property of Thomas Harris. Adapted for television by Bryan Fuller.

**Author's Note**: After seeing "The Born Again Identity" I started having ideas, this would be the end result.

The Glass Isn't Empty

_**S**_am walks through the hospital with purpose; he's done this a million times before, no longer the lanky college boy uncertain about his brother's gung-ho attitude when it came to the family business. He was past all of that, the both of them. Suffering had a way of dampening the adventurous excitement when it came to being a hunter. He passes a few of the inhabitants matching the guise of a concerned family member or caretaker of some sort, a few nurses glance in his direction and quickly return to busying themselves with their own devices. He hated the smell; sterility that came in the form of antiseptics and citrus, his nose twitched just thinking about it. Usually they don't bother with homicides unless there's information to gather that could lead them to another case, those remaining in the community knew their way around tight spots, loopholes were easy as pie…most of the time. Sam had been a bit on the reluctant side to take this one – not because of the content, but that there was plenty of media scrambling about for coverage. Everybody wanted a piece of this. **The Minnesota Shrike**, a cannibalistic serial killer. It sounded like something out of a horror novel, but hey, that was pretty much life for the Winchesters. Dean was still with Castiel handling other business (never a dull day) of a _ magnitude in New England, and while a case like this sounded relatively low-tier, neither brother had wanted to split up just yet, especially when traveling so far apart. They had a few contacts in Maryland, its how he'd managed to obtain more information concerning the atrocities of Garrett Jacob Hobbs that he public – not even the FBI was inherently aware of just yet.

Wendigo. Sam remembered their earliest of jobs taking down one of those, ah the good old days. The long-haired Winchester snorted derisively to himself attracting the brief frown of a doctor before continuing down the hall. This man had murdered 8 girls, and no doubt growing more monstrous as he continued to feast upon them, even more disturbing is the girls had all looked like his own daughter, which Sam could only wonder what Mr. Hobbs would've done once he finally got ahold of her. There was plenty of talk that the younger Hobbs (Abigail) had helped her father lure in the others. Who was the victim and who was the monster? He wasn't here to play judge, jury and executioner. Sam had a purpose of finding out whether Abigail had been cursed by the Wendigo, as no doubt she had feed on what her father hunted, which meant she could be on her way into the same cycle of bloodshed. The last thing he wanted to witness was the life of a young girl go to waste and crumble because of the sins of her own father. Then there was the possibility of another Wendigo lurking around, as one of the victims had not been killed by Hobbs either. Sam walked himself right up to a stationary desk; already there to greet him was a young-ish looking attendant that gave him the familiar once over. Dean was closer to the Casanova, not him. Sam had always been a bit more preoccupied to think about women than his brother – though that could presently be attributed to the both of them given their line of work and the record they had concerning the opposite sex. Needless to say that neither of which mixed well.

"Can I help you sir?" was her light chirp

"Yes actually, I'm looking for the room number of Abigail Hobbs." He was careful to speak just low enough to avoid suspicion yet not attract the attention of anyone else trying to pry into the Hobbs case.

He didn't miss the way her brows furrowed at the mention of Port Haven's newest celebrity victim.

"Are you a family member?"

"Mhm. I'm her cousin," easy enough lie "I hadn't been able to make it down from Indiana as soon I could've because of my work schedule, but I've been trying to get in contact since the incident."

Incident, not accident. There's no way a father trying to butcher his daughter to save his own skin was an accident at all. Parents hurting their children was just one of the many things that made Sam furious. By now he had learned to bury his feelings underneath different masks. She gave him another look, trying to measure his words before nodding. The attendant stood up from her chair and motioned for him to follow her. So far so good. His hands linger at his sides before finding their way into his jacket pockets again, they hadn't gone incredibly far – though Sam figured with all of the excitement surrounding the Hobbs case, Abigail would be put someplace out of the spotlight. He was right. A room located on the left of a dead-end hallway. The attendant knocked on the door first to signal their entrance and for a moment Sam was worried that she'd linger inside with them, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to request they have a little privacy, but he knew the girl wouldn't know who he was, and that the staff would know he was lying. Lucky all the woman did was push open the door for him to pass through, her fingers lingering around the handle before closing.

_Huh, lucky break_

"Are you another doctor?"

Sam thought he was hearing things — or rather seeing things as the moment he turned to face the hospital bed he found someone unlikely sitting in it. Her voice is a pitch perfect match thatit's almost scary. She looked exactly the same! He remembers the distant expression of a young woman with soulful blue eyes and a patch on her neck. She was bleak for the most part and frantic in other moments. Her brother had been haunting her for so long that she wanted it to end, and the suffocating smell of a burning home. This would've been _Marin_, would've been his little friend from the psyche ward, even the bandage on her neck was enough to convince him…if not for the distinct dark coloring of her hair. This was Abigail Hobbs, not Marin.

"Not exactly," he admitted "Don't worry I'm not a reporter or FBI agent, not here to cause any trouble."

"Who are you?" her brow curved and her eyes sharpened

The expression of recognition he'd been wearing must've unnerved her. Sam gathered his thoughts quick enough to choose his own words carefully. If he'd stepped closer, then he would risk upsetting her. He couldn't breach personal boundaries in order to get information. With kids (not to say she was one), things have to be taken steady. He and Dean have slipped up more than a couple of times before, especially when they were first starting out. He has to ease into this.

"I'm actually a case worker, a different kind from the regular variety."

He's not exactly dressed to be sitting behind a desk and shoving legal documents back and forth. At best he looks like a lumberjack with the plaid he's wearing. She nods and for a brief second his eyes flicker to the patch on her neck. She probably gets that a lot but he's not here to patronize or offend her by walking on eggshells. Same takes his hands out of his pockets and lets his arms fold across his chest.

"I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. I came here to talk to you about the incident regarding your father."

"Of course," she scoffs and immediately turns her view elsewhere.

"Abigail," he began "I know the whole ordeal, it's public knowledge by now, but something I'm sure you probably know is just how much of what went on with your dad."

She tensed and he sought another route

"I'm not going to incarcerate you for telling the truth, that's not my job, but I do need to ask you one thing that's very important: do you know what a **Wendigo** is?"

In that moment he could see her brow furrow – which could easily be mistaken for displeasure, but he knew that it was something else entirely. If he could just get her to confirm it for him, then he'd be able to assure her safety, so Sam kept his voice even.

"A what?"

"A Wendigo: it's this monster that comes from Native American, or Algonquian myth that ties into cannibalism."

"What are you talking about?" she turned back on the defensive

"Well, from the reports, the ones that are kept from the press, I know that your father did kill those girls, and I know that there had to be some way he was hiding them. I'm sure you know too, but I'm also sure that you _didn't_ kill them."

Abigail's eyes went wide before she was scrutinizing him, clearly this was not something she wanted to talk about at all, and with his shaky cover, he could be close to getting thrown out. It was all a matter of saying the right thing in the presented situation

"Your dad cannibalized those girls didn't he?"

She looked at him, it was a glare behind scrutiny. Fair enough, he's been jeered at and hated on for the majority of his adulthood by those whom he opposed, and those whom he'd sworn to protect. He can handle this, its fine. He'll take all of the hurt. Abigail looked as though she were struggling with an internal dilemma, which only furthered his hypothesis that he'd snagged more of a lead.

"I didn't know he was feeding them to us – my mother and I until it was too late." Her voice was near a whisper.

"…but that isn't it?"

She averted her gaze down to the hands folded in her lap

"Who are you really?"

This was where things got tricky; if he told her that he was a hunter then she'd either disbelieve him or tell someone else. Then again, that wouldn't be quite fair to assume. Both of them were withholding information to gain information, and in the case of the poor girl sitting in the hospital bed, she had more than enough reason to do so. It was her survival at stake. Marin hadn't told anyone, she saw her brother and she believed. She was scared and wanted the terror to stop, just like Abigail. Running a hand through his hair, Sam wrestled with the decision before answering.

"I'm a hunter; a hunter that puts down monsters in order to protect people."

"So that thing you described—

"Wendigo."

-was what my father was?"

"Pretty much," he nodded "look, I know it all sounds crazy and that you probably think I am, but I don't think you are, Abigail. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this so that no one else gets hurt."

"What about me?"

"You too."

He watched her expression change into something a little less tense, but still sad. She made a small sigh and spoke up again.

"He was loving right up until the second he wasn't, but I could see him changing. It was horrible; sometimes I would look at him and forget he was my dad. Other times he would have this blank stare on his face whenever he looked at me or my mom. It was like living with a stranger."

"Your dad, did he ever hunt with anyone else? Were there other people he knew or talked to outside of like work or anything else?"

"Not that I know of. H-he took me hunting, he showed me how. It was only just deer, but it still felt wrong. I never caught him while he was—

Sam moved a bit closer to the bed, if only just to reassure her that she didn't need to go into explicit detail.

"It's disgusting, I know. Trust me, I've gone through enough of this before and seen too much to know how it is. My brother and I frequently suffer PTSD…but it's our job."

"Sam," it was the first time she had said his name "my dad can't come back can he? He's dead, him and my mother, but if he's a real monster then—

"No. The dead stay dead." _Most of the time_ "and even if there's the slightest possibility, I'll make sure to bring in the cavalry to set things straight. I do need you to keep this under wraps okay?"

"Who am I gonna tell?" she countered "no one would believe me; they'd think I'm crazy and lock me up."

_Been there, done that._

"The FBI came to me," Abigail continued "one of their agents had said that there was a copycat, someone who was committing similar murders like my dad."

"It could be an admirer," he frowned "sometimes stuff like this opens the floodgates for all kinds of creepy stuff to happen."

It was grim to say, and while there was no helping if the younger girl was frightened or not, it was the truth. Once a criminal gets caught and makes the headlines, then all of the others begin to show off as well, to make names for themselves. Wendigos however are usually crafty on some level, the one he's heard rumors about is definitely not Garrett Jacob Hobbs. This one is viler and sinister, perhaps even older. The older the wiser. This damn thing has probably got more experience with hiding itself. He bites his lower lip for a split second before unfolding his arms and stepping a few inches closer. He fishes out a scrap piece of paper from his jacket and a miniature pen. For once he's thankful that there's junk in his pockets.

"I need you to do something for me, just this one thing," he says while scribbling on paper at her nightstand "If you're unsure about anyone else or anything around you, just call this number. Ask for either one of the Winchesters, me or my brother Dean, okay?"

"What are you going to do now?" she asked

Straightening back to his full height, Sam worked a small kink in his neck before handing the number over to her. She might not call him, she might throw it in the trash as soon as he leaves, but at least he knows that his suspicions are confirmed and that there was another Wendigo lurking around, and this one seemed admittedly more clever than Garrett Jacob Hobbs.

"I'm gonna keep tabs on this copycat, see if he really is a wendigo. If not then I won't have to bring in some of my contacts and the FBI can catch him."

…_or her._ It could be a woman, but statistically when it came to cannibalism, men were more likely to engage in the taboo than a woman. It is an act of dominance, and which gender was more likely to assert their dominance than bull-headed and power-hungry males? Right. Sam placed his hands on his hips, already formulating some sort of plan, but one look back to the frail young woman and he saw _her_ again. Their similarities right down to the neck had struck a chord in him. Why though? Was this just an issue of that doppelganger theory. There was nothing otherworldly about Abigail that he could detect. Even if she was something else (a possibility he didn't rule out), she wouldn't be spending her time here in the hospital and under the scrutiny of so many authority figures. No, she was clean. She was an innocent, didn't deserve this fate.

"You're the only one who believes me, y'know." She said "I thought I was just hallucinating things or that I actually was going crazy but…this just makes things more complicated."

"But I told you," he pointed to the scrap of paper "you can reach me with that, if you need to."

Sam hoped that with this he'd be able to make things significantly less horrible for her. That was the most rewarding part of the job; even if he was only just an outsider looking in, the point was to save lives and prevent situations from snowballing their way to hell. Again, been there done that…don't want to go back. Feeling that his part had been played, Sam headed for the door, there was no need to stay any longer than necessary. Plus, he didn't want to be hauled out by security.

"Thank you."

His hand had nearly twisted the knob until she cut in. The sincerity in her gratitude was enough to bring a small smile to his lips. Those same words spoken after he'd done his best to save another young girl from family torment. He shot her an easy look coupled with a nod of assurance. That was another reason why he did the job, because all of those whom he could aspire hope into

_It felt good_


End file.
